Hylan didn’t like noise.
So after he turned ten, he stopped sharing a dorm with James, Keaney, and the others.
Mrs.
Hazel gave him the dusty attic and let him fix it up for himself.
Of course, he didn’t have to clean it alone.
The other kids were happy to help.
Back in the attic, he sorted through his Diagon Alley purchases and pulled out the spellbook.
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
Written by Miranda Goshawk, it was required reading for every Hogwarts first-year.
Simple, practical spells.
Alohomora.
Incendio.
Lumos.
Reparo.
Wingardium Leviosa.
Magic.
The word itself hummed with fantasy and power.
It pulled you in.
Hylan opened the book and was lost immediately.
With the trait keyword Charm Instinct active, the basic spells came fast.
Theory guided practice.
Once he’d memorized the incantations and key points, he drew his wand.
A wand was vital to a wizard.
A second life, really.
Even the most skilled witch or wizard struggled with someone else’s wand.
That was why Professor McGonagall had said there were no secondhand wands.
Apart from one famously poor, overstuffed family, and Neville Longbottom using his father’s wand as a memorial, few wizarding families ever “passed down” a wand.
Hylan’s was ebony.
Twelve inches.
Dragon heartstring core.
Rigid.
Mr.
Ollivander had to reach nearly to the ceiling to retrieve the box.
The wand, he’d said, was strange.
Quiet on the outside.
Dark and steady.
But once it cast, it unleashed tremendous force.
He’d seemed surprised that Hylan, thin, pale, almost frail, had been chosen by it.
In the end, he’d simply told Hylan to use it well.
To be safe, Hylan started with harmless spells.
Lumos.
Reparo.
Over the next few days, the attic flickered with light and echoed with the sound of breaking objects.
[You completed a spell study session.]
[Charm Instinct: Proficiency +1]
[Charm Instinct: Proficiency +1]
…
“James, what’d you get?”
“Not much.
A couple radios.
A busted iron.
Oh, and a broken TV.
You?”
“Keaney and I picked up a bunch of broken toys.
Those are worth good money.
Easy to sell.”
“Smart, Keaney.”
The kids hauled their junk up to Hylan’s attic.
Hylan had stopped doing fortunes lately.
Instead, he’d sent them out with cash to buy broken things around the neighborhood.
Radios, irons, televisions, toys, even torn clothes.
They came back wrecked and useless.
But the morning after they reached the attic, every piece was spotless and new.
Then the kids sold them.
Way cheaper than any shop.
They never struggled to find buyers.
In just a few days, they were flush with cash.
James directed the others to carry the restored goods downstairs, then walked over to Hylan.
“Hylan.
Here’s the money from this week.”
“Hold onto it.
You’re in charge of it now.
Remember to give half to Mrs.
Hazel.
More bread for everyone.
You and Keaney each take a fifth.
The rest gets split by effort, like I showed you.”
“Got it.”
“And don’t hand it all out at once.
Little by little.”
“Understood.
Hylan… will you come back?”
James was big and heavyset, not much for words.
He asked it hesitantly.
“Don’t worry, James.
I’ll be back.”
James let out a breath, scratched his head with a goofy grin, and headed downstairs.
The moment Hylan had mastered Reparo, he’d seen the business.
Buy broken junk, fix it, sell it.
Technically, it probably violated school rules.
But he wasn’t a student yet.
The rules didn’t apply.
And he kept it quiet.
Small-scale, just a few blocks.
No one noticed.
Keaney had been waiting below the attic.
When James came down, Keaney’s eyes flicked to the money in his hand.
A quick, hidden flash of greed.
“Well?”
“Hylan says he’s coming back.”
Keaney glanced up at the attic and buried the thought.
Hylan was still here.
And even if he left, as long as he was coming back, Keaney wouldn’t dare try anything.
In Keaney’s mind, James was a stubborn ox.
All muscle, no brain.
The other kids were idiots who only cared about eating and sleeping.
Keaney was the rare smart one.
And Hylan?
Hylan was something else.
Unfathomable.
He still remembered the first time he’d seen the guy.
Handsome, sure.
But he’d looked so weak.
Keaney had thought: another fool.
That “fool” had dismantled Keaney’s hold on the orphanage in two weeks.
Turned James into a loyal follower.
Won over every other kid.
Keaney had to admit it.
Hylan was sharp.
Once he’d built real authority, he hadn’t hoarded what little they had.
He’d made more money and improved everyone’s life.
Even Keaney had to respect that.
Nobody argued with more money.
…
The Burrow.
Molly Weasley flicked her wand, sending chopped ingredients hopping into the pot, and shouted up the stairs.
“Arthur!
Percy!
Fred!
George!
Ginny!
Ronald!
Up!
It’s the first day of term!”
Fred and George scratched their heads in perfect sync and hesitated at the door.
“Who went out first last time?”
“Forgot.”
“I’ll go first, then.”
“Haven’t we done this?
No, my turn this time.”
Ron watched his equally groggy father and yawned.
“Anyone would think you’re one of Mum’s kids too.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely your mother’s darling.”
“Please, Dad.
My teeth hurt,” Fred and George said together.
Percy examined his chin in a mirror.
He was a prefect now.
Had to look the part.
Ginny leaned against the doorframe, head tilted.
She didn’t even start school yet.
Why did she have to get up this early?
The whole noisy family settled around the table.
Arthur ate a sandwich and read the Daily Prophet.
Fred and George teased Ron about his hand-me-down school supplies, then both mimicked Percy stroking their chins.
“Call me Prefect Percy!”
Little Ginny brushed her hair.
Breakfast was served.
Before anyone could take a bite, an owl slammed into the window with a thud.
“Errol probably wants breakfast too.”
Percy sighed, got up, and retrieved the letter.
He glanced at the envelope.
“Mum.
It’s for you.”
Molly wiped her hands and took it.
A Hogwarts letter?
Term hadn’t even started yet.
Frowning, she opened it and checked the signature.
Minerva McGonagall.
That made her frown deepen.
“George.
Fred.
Have you two been causing trouble at school?”
“Which one, Mum?” they said together.
Molly shot them a look and began to read.
Past the pleasantries, the letter asked one thing.
Had her brother Fabian Prewett had a Muggle girlfriend, more than ten years ago?
A strange question.
Professor McGonagall wasn’t asking “if.” She was asking “wasn’t there.”
Not a vague inquiry.
A request for confirmation.
As if she already had information and was only checking a detail.
But why would Professor McGonagall be asking about this now, after all these years?
She wasn’t the type to pry into anyone’s private life.
Especially not a dead man’s.
This was not normal.
If she could help it, Molly didn’t want to think about ten years ago at all.
It had been a nightmare.
Both her brothers killed in the war.
No children left behind.
The Prewett name nearly wiped out.
Every time she remembered, it cut her to the bone.
“Mum?
What’s wrong?
Why are you crying?”
“Nothing.
It’s just… drafty in here.”
“There’s no draft inside.”
“Enough.
Eat your breakfast.
You need to get to the station.
Can’t be late on the first day.”
Molly wiped her eyes and tucked the letter away.
She’d deal with it after the children left.
But the words stayed with her, circling.
Her brother couldn’t have had a girlfriend back then.
Couldn’t have left a child behind.
Could he?